


The Suit

by brodeurbunny30



Category: Seinfeld
Genre: 90s References, 90s humour, Couples Being Cute, Established Relationship, M/M, Shenanigans, actually so is kramer, elaine hates everyone, episode fic, george is cheap, mentions of Canada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:48:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21840760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brodeurbunny30/pseuds/brodeurbunny30
Summary: George decides to alter his own suits to save money. Jerry discovers the joy of going to charity events by himself. Kramer gets addicted to dumpster diving. Elaine thinks her neighbor is stealing her packages.
Relationships: George Costanza/Jerry Seinfeld
Comments: 17
Kudos: 29
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	The Suit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [borevidal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/borevidal/gifts).



> For borevidal,
> 
> We matched on a fandom I've wanted to write for ages and I sincerely hope this fic, in all its ridiculousness reflects the zany, sarcastic fandom we both love.
> 
> "What's the deal with fanfiction? Why are so many people into it? If I wanted to play make believe with a bunch of people's lame characters, I'd play dungeons and dragons--seems easier."  
> \--Jerry Seinfeld, probably**
> 
> **seriously not him, but I feel like he’d say that lol  
> 
> 
> ALSO, i must thank borevidal for requesting this (honestly you made my yule) and to sam who came in clutch with the most phenomenal beta work. Without you, i may not have dragged my ass over the finish line. you have my eternal gratitude for your tireless efforts in making this what it is. special shout out to my friend dree for listening to me ramble about this for the last three days alone. thank you for your noncommittal words of support.

The Suit

George decides to alter his own suits. Jerry discovers the joy of going to charity events by himself. Kramer gets addicted to dumpster diving. Elaine thinks her neighbor is stealing her packages.

*Seinfeld theme plays*

**At Comedy Cellar**

Jerry squinted at the bright stage lights as he moved out from behind the curtains. His eyes adjusted quickly from habit and he launched into his routine. This is what he did every day, this was nothing.

“So, I’ve been thinking, the thing about going to cocktail parties with your spouse or partner is that there are limitations on how impressive they can be to a bunch of well dressed strangers. No matter how much you prepare them, or how fancy the suit or dress, some rich club house golfer with three PHDs is going to ask them, `Do you agree with this year’s crop of Nobel Peace Laureates?’ and you’re going to watch them answer with a straight face and a shrimp sauce stain on their collar that ‘No, I haven’t, but did you see the latest episode of Night Court?’”

He paused for laughter. 

“Now, don’t get me wrong, we love our wonderful yet terribly mediocre partners, that’s why we committed to them, but there’s always that niggling thought. You know the one where you can’t help but feel that if you had just gone alone, you could have lied and said ‘My husband is a doctor who works in Africa for charity, or my wife runs a successful interior design company’ No, you decided to advertise to a bunch of strangers that your partner is without a doubt the gold standard of average human beings. ‘That one, that one with the shrimp sauce stain talking about wallpaper, yup, that one’s mine. Don’t worry, I’ll show myself out.’”

Jerry smiled. The audience laughed and cheered.

**At Monk’s**

“Oh great…” Jerry grumbled. “The waitress forgot to give me a spoon for my soup.”

George squinted from behind the newspaper where he sat across the booth. 

“So what, use the tea spoon from your coffee,” George said flatly, going back to his article.

“It’s not the same!” Jerry complained like a spoiled child. “The soup spoon is bigger, it’s for soup! Not for stirring coffee.”

George gave him a fed up look from behind the paper. “Then ask the waitress for another.”

Glancing around, Jerry continued whining.“It’ll take forever. Look at this place! It’s chock full of schlubs eating lunch.”

George tried to ignore him but it was impossible. He noticed Jerry eyeing his empty plate and bowl where he had just finished his own soup, and the used soup spoon with it.

“Problem solved.” Jerry scooped the spoon before George could stop him. 

“Really, Jerry?” George angrily shoved the newspaper into his lap. “Did you just take my soup spoon? My used soup spoon?”

Jerry smirked. “Yeah, what of it?”

George made a face. “That is so unsanitary!”

“What do you mean? It’s your spoon, not some random stranger’s spoon.” 

He dug into his soup satisfied with the fact that he was annoying George with such a little act. 

“That’s just the rules, everyone knows that,” he stated simply.

Tongue in cheek, Jerry kept poking at his boyfriend’s statement. It was fun to do. George was always so easily irritated that sometimes he couldn’t help but prod him with an imaginary stick. At least it kept their relationship interesting since they became more than just friends.

“You know, we swap bodily fluids daily.” He tongued the spoon suggestively. “And you _still_ consider this unsanitary?” 

George wasn’t having any of it. 

“I don’t make the rules, Jerry!” His cheeks were getting redder by the moment, either from anger or arousal, Jerry couldn’t tell for sure. 

Jerry just laughed and went back to eating his soup.

Conveniently, Kramer swept into the coffee shop. He strutted in wearing a very old, very ratty looking jacket with a big fur collar.

Jerry and George took a pause from their bickering to gawk at his attire. 

“Kramer, what the hell are you wearing?” Jerry asked while shaking his head.

Much to their chagrin, Kramer beamed like a peacock on display. “This gorgeous thing is vintage,” he said, doing a little twirl on his heel.

“Well… it certainly looks vintage,” George cut in sarcastically as Kramer slid into the seat next to him.

“Can you even believe my luck, though?” Kramer asked with a big dumb grin. 

Jerry and George gave each other a knowing look over their coffees, which Kramer ignored.

“Some guy just left this beauty in a dumpster,” he exclaimed while waving his hand excitedly. “So of course it had to come home with me.

“Of course it had to,” Jerry agreed flatly. 

Throughout their lengthy friendship, Kramer had always been prone to unorthodox situations, and dumpster diving seemed very par for the course as far as Jerry was concerned.

George was less accepting. He put down his own cup in surprise. 

“A dumpster!? You just found that thing in a dumpster? How do you know it wasn’t pulled off some dead homeless guy? Or worn by some mafioso whose body was dumped post gunfight?”

Kramer stuck out his chin adamantly, “No bullet holes, I checked.”

Jerry was shaking his head throughout the exchange. “You see George,” he said, pointing at Kramer with his borrowed soup spoon. “Now _that_ is unsanitary.”

“Hey, now. I washed this puppy. It’s clean as a whistle,” Kramer said adamantly.

Throwing a pointed finger at Jerry, George explained. “Me and Jerry were having a bit of a disagreement. You see,” he paused and glared at Jerry disapprovingly. “He took my _used_ spoon to eat his soup.”

Kramer’s face cringed up with disapproval. “Now that’s just wrong, Jer. There are rules, even between partners.”

At that moment, Elaine came into the cafe looking haggard and angry. She forcibly shuffled Jerry over so that she could sit.

Jerry, having known Elaine longer and more intimately than anyone else in their friend circle, bit first. 

“What’s wrong with you? You look miserable,” he asked.

“Well, THANKS,” she huffed, obviously annoyed. “It’s my dumb neighbor. I’m pretty sure she’s stealing my packages.”

“Oh that’s terrible! But it can happen.” Kramer took a sip of his coffee. “You know, my guy always has me sign for packages, safer that way. Now if your guy is just leaving it at your door, well… you gotta get a new mail guy.” 

“That’s the thing,” she shrugged. “I’ve never had a problem before. Then, I decided to take a chance on that Columbia House deal. You know, with the CDs?” 

They all nodded in agreement. 

“Anyway, I’ve called because I haven’t received any of the things I’ve ordered since signing up. According to my bill, they’ve sent three packages, but I haven’t received any of them.”

“So where’d they go?” George asked plainly and Elaine groaned.

“You see, there’s this woman down my hall who has been giving me some dirty looks. I’m almost certain she’s the one taking them. I mean, I just know it.” Elaine grumbled, and signaled to the waitress for a coffee. 

The waitress made her way to the table and topped up everyone’s coffee. George waited until she was out of immediate earshot before he exclaimed.

“You see that? THAT really GRINDS MY GEARS.” Everyone was wide eyed as his voice projected into the coffee shop. He didn’t let their stunned faces stop his train of thought.

“The nerve of some people; just stealing things from under their neighbors noses. You know what you need to do?” 

“What?” Elaine frowned, almost afraid to ask where George was going with his tirade.

“You need to catch her in the act. Rain hell down on that jerk of a neighbor.”

Jerry, who had kept quiet this whole exchange finally interrupted. “This isn’t an NYPD sting, George.” He continued, “I’m sure if she just talked to the woman, she’d find out it was just a big misunderstanding.”

To Jerry’s surprise, something in Elaine snapped. “No, no… George is right! I’m going to catch this old biddy in the act.” 

There was a fire in her eyes as her mind began hatching a plan. She pointed at Jerry. 

“I could do it. I have some unused vacation time I need to take soon. I could make a stand.”

“There you go!” agreed George as he sipped his coffee, and everyone else did the same. The pause in the conversation was heavy with the absurdity of Elaine’s plan.

Yet, as if nothing really out of the ordinary had been said, she deflected back to normal conversation.

“What about you guys? What’s new with you guys?” her tone was almost bored.

“Well,” Jerry spoke first. “I’ve got some prep to do for that charity fundraiser gig I have. They’re real uppity conservative types,” he looked knowingly at Elaine, “you remember the ones.” 

“Oh yeah, the squash clubhouse guys, I remember.”

“Right, those are the ones,” he continued. “They’re notoriously hard to get laughing, so I need to bring my best material.” 

“Speaking of the fundraiser,” he looked across the table at George. “ Are you still going to go suit shopping later? Do you need some money?” It was an innocent enough question but George prickled at the question.

“Do I need money?” George repeated as he furrowed his brow. “I do not!” he snapped and Kramer jumped in his seat next to him, startled.

“I’ll buy my own suit thank you.” George continued, voice turning irate. “George Constanza may be many things, but a kept man who relies on his partner financially isn’t one of them.”

Jerry’s eyes rolled so far into his head he was sure they’d stay that way. “I just want you to look nice, this fundraiser is kinda a big deal.”

“Believe me, it is,” Elaine interrupted. “You know, the few times I went with Jerry. God, it was _SO_ BORING. All anyone wanted to talk about was golf, or tennis or their stupid houses in the Hamptons.” she spoke in a snide tone for emphasis. 

“Good luck winning those guys over, it’s a tough crowd. I even got dressed up to the nines. Like, I looked _really_ good… like _trophy wife_ good, and it was still dicey to win them over.”

“Well,” George started, adjusting his glasses like a lawyer about to make his case. “I think it’s the MAN that makes the suit, not the other way around,” he said pointedly. “In fact, me and Kramer are going to Suit Barn down on 45th, I heard they’re having a warehouse sale.”

“Is that so?” Jerry sipped his coffee nonchalantly. It didn’t really matter where George shopped, he thought. But it would be a relief if George was dressed to impress at one of his most challenging gigs.

“It’s going to be great, I’ll show you guys,” he shook a finger at Jerry and Elaine. “Knock your socks off good, you hear? Knock your socks…” said George, waving his hand dramatically. “Right off!”

Jerry nodded and muttered low enough so only Elaine could hear him. “This should be good.”

**Outside Suit Barn**

George was pacing impatiently. They were supposed to meet at three o’clock and it was now nearly four. Sure, it was widely known that Kramer ran on his own schedule but this was getting ridiculous.

Then he caught sight of a tall man waving erratically from the end of the street, a block away.

George grumbled to himself, shaking his head. “For heaven’s sakes, Kramer.”

Kramer finally got to him and it was only then that George noticed the outrageous corduroy pants he wore with his dumpster coat. They looked like bell bottoms and were flared out wide at the ankles.

“What the hell, Kramer? Why are you so late? And what in god’s name are you wearing?”

“You’re kidding me right?” Kramer arched his back defensively. “I had to show you the full ensemble, of course.” He said matter of factly.

George took in the monstrosity. The “vintage” mink was one thing but these disco era bell bottom pants were another. 

“I could have tolerated the coat, but the pants… well,” he complained. “Kramer, you look ridiculous! Where did you even get them?” His tone was tired and accusatory, “or a museum?”

Kramer stuck out a leg like a woman showing off new hosiery. “Dumpster! Can you believe someone didn’t want these anymore? Unbelievable, such a waste! Glorious clothing just lying in trash bins. It’s unthinkable!”

George sniffed the air around Kramer. “What’s that smell?” There was a distinct stench emanating from his pants.

“Did you even clean them?” George asked as he pinched his nose from the stench. “ I think they still smell like the seventies.”

“I washed them right away.” Then he sniffed the air too. “But it’s still lingering.” 

“I’ve been rubbing pine car air freshener over myself so it’s not as noticeable.” said Kramer as he pulled a tree shaped air freshener from his pocket and began rubbing it on his neck. He offered it to George. 

“Want some?”

“No, God no.” George’s hands shoved his away defensively. “Let’s just go in and start shopping. I need to prove to Elaine that I can look good enough to be a trophy wife at this stupid Gala.”

Kramer lifted an eyebrow inquisitively. “Don’t you mean, Trophy Husband? Gotta be politically correct.”

George repeated the phrase, pondering and finding it suitable. “I like that. Trophy Husband. That could be me!” He pulled the doors of Suit Barn open and guided Kramer through the overflowing racks of bargain basement suits. “I’ll show her!” He shouted as he disappeared into the fray of polyester and wool.

**At Elaine’s apartment**

Elaine was breathing heavily by the time she made it to her floor. She had two giant paper bags filled with salty snacks, wine and soda. Elaine struggled to open her own door but it all felt worth it when she dumped everything onto her table.

After a quick inventory of her supplies, she rubbed her hands together, feeling more determined than she had in ages. 

“I’m going to catch you red handed, you old crone.” Elaine spoke as if the neighbors could hear her through the walls. She laughed maniacally, and dragged one of her chairs to her door so she could stack couch cushions on it. She didn’t want to strain to look through the peephole.

Surveying her set up and seeing that it was adequate, she cracked open a can of soda and grabbed a bag of chips before parking herself on the cushions like a pigeon.

Glancing at her watch, she did some quick calculations and figured it’d be close to delivery time.

“And now it begins…”

**At Suit Barn**

George was flipping through racks of suits of all shapes and colors and patterns at Suit Barn. He had heard rumblings of its existence through his dad’s friends, and this was the first time he had ever stepped foot in the place. If the giant yellow and red clearance signs were anything to go by, it was the place to get a great deal.

The only snag as it were, was that every suit that caught his eye with a tasteful pattern and color combination was unfortunately way too long. The average length was extra tall, meaning it would likely be long on even Kramer’s gangly chicken legs.

George took out a navy pinstripe number that was very stylish and worthy of a ‘trophy husband’, but the slacks were dragging on the ground with their clown like length.

“Kramer!” he had to shout to be heard through the pounds of sound absorbing fabric. There was no sign of him anywhere, so shouted even louder. “KRAMER!” 

That seemed to do the trick as Kramer’s trademark freakazoid hair-do popped up visibly from behind a rack of tuxedos.

“Kramer, c’mere,” he called, waving to get his attention.

Kramer dropped the blazer he was holding and whipped around. He giraffe-galloped as only he could, over to George once he spotted him.

“Look at this,” said George excitedly. “This is a great suit. Real classy; nice pinstripe, good colour.”

Kramer was nodding. “Yeah, that’s a winner.” He grabbed for the tag and noticed the price. “That’s a steal at fifty bucks.”

“I would buy it, except, look at this.” George pulled up the suit up by the hanger as high as his arms would go and the pants were still pooling on the ground.

“It’s made for basketball players or something!” He shook the hanger at Kramer. “It’s ridiculous! This is ridiculous! They need suits for regular people, not just abnormally tall freaks.”

At that last shout, an older man wearing a pinstripe suit of his own with a receding hairline to rival George’s, came around a rack, honing in on them.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked with an irate tone that immediately raised George’s hackles.

“Yes, _good sir_ ,” he responded sarcastically. “I am looking for a nice suit in a normal person length. Something less.... _extra tall_.”

The man gave George a once over and sneered.

“We do have a rack for _short_ lengths over here,” he said before turning on his heel and crooking a finger at them to follow. He guided them to a less crowded rack with more questionable fabric choices than their blowout rack.

“Let me know if there’s anything you’d like to try on,” he snapped, leaving before either of the two could answer.

“Wow, seems like somebody doesn’t like their job.” Kramer made a face and glared at the salesman’s back as he stalked off. 

George shook his head as he started flipping through the rack. 

“Seriously, I can’t get over the NERVE of that guy,” George shook his head as he started flipping through the rack. “I’d expect that kind of attitude at Saks, but we’re at the Suit Barn, for crying out loud.” He was complaining just loud enough in hopes that the guy would hear them. 

“Also, I don’t wear a short length, I’m not short!” He snapped and held up one of the suits from the rack.

Kramer was only half listening but that didn’t stop George’s angry monologuing.

“I’m average height! Look up the average height of men in the United States and you’ll see it there in black and white that I am AVERAGE height.” His voice cracked with frustration, “the nerve of that guy.” He flipped aggressively until he found a similar navy suit he had liked, just with a pinstripe that was a touch wider.

“Finally!” he shouted and Kramer did a skittish jump next to him. George pulled the suit out to get a better look. “Finally, something worth looking for here.” 

He reached for the tag and cursed. 

Kramer looked at George, worried. “What, what is it?”

“This!” George backhanded the tag with frustration. “This is a joke!” he shouted. “The ‘short’ length suit is twice the price!” 

Kramer read the tag, and nodded with confirmation. 

“This is outrageous!” Kramer flailed dramatically. “That’s discrimation against short people.”

“You mean, AVERAGE,” corrected George. “But you’re right, it is discrimination.”

He flipped through the tags of the suits next to it just to see if that was the case for all of the more average lengths. Every single one was more expensive than the odd long sizes. George felt personally attacked by all of this new information and he was reeling. 

“Look at this, Kramer! They’re all a hundred! And that’s SALE price?” he spat out the words. “This is prejudice against average height Americans. They’re taking advantage of the fact that most of us are AVERAGE height and jacking up the price to make a quick buck.”

George’s eyes widened with disgust. “This is systematic. The whole industry is in on it! The whole damn system wants the average man to suffer!” 

“Yeah,” he said. “This is insanity. Someone should tell Barbara Walters. I bet it’d get a feature on 20/20.”

George pressed a finger to his lips, an idea bubbling in the lumpy porridge he called his brain.

“What if I just got the pants and sleeves hemmed on the tall suit. That’s like what? Ten bucks for the cuff, ten for the slacks?” He surmised, counting his hypothetical math out on his fingers. “That’s still cheaper than this suit, and it’d be an extra thirty dollars in my pocket.”

Kramer rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You could beat the system, the industry even!”

“I COULD BEAT THE SYSTEM, the WHOLE DAMN INDUSTRY!” repeated George at a shout.

He marched toward the tall rack where he had left the other suit. 

“This is happening, Kramer. I’m doing this for average men everywhere.”

**At Jerry’s apartment the next day**

Jerry had just pulled a bottle of water from the fridge when the phone rang.

“Y’ello.” he said, answering the phone.

The voice on the other end of the call asked for Jerry in a strangely ‘proper’ tone.

“Speaking, who might I ask is calling?” asked Jerry.

It was Sal Burgman the philanthropist in charge of the charity function. Jerry knew him well enough having worked the event a few times already. Still, it was nice of him to call and confirm details, even if it was unnecessary.

The gala itself was a lot of glad handing and networking -pretty easy peasy as far as gigs go. But, this time, he was bringing George, and that was the source of his apprehension.

Jerry wouldn’t tell him to his face, but his gut instinct was to not invite his boyfriend. There was a lot of pressure to impress important people, and considering how George always found himself in the worst of situations on the best of days, it had Jerry worried.

Unfortunately, some documents confirming the event had been mailed to his apartment and Jerry had unthinkingly left them out on the coffee table where George had seen. His eyes had zeroed in on the ticket confirmation, and George had immediately gotten excited. He was now stuck taking George to the event. Jerry had wondered if maybe they had come up with a cover story, they could sail smoothly through the evening with some clever lies. 

After a lengthy goodbye, Jerry was finally able to hang up.

There was a noise in the hallway and Jerry sighed expectantly. The door swung open and Kramer stumbled noisily into his apartment in his trademark way.

“Kramer, what a surprise.” He said sarcastically.

Kramer ran a hand through his unruly hair. 

“Jerry, you won’t believe what happened.” He rivaled George in the unnecessary dramatics category, and he had a knack for making even the littlest things a huge deal. Almost nothing could be found surprising anymore when it came to Kramer. He led an outrageous life.

Jerry leaned on the arm of the sofa. “Okay, I’m interested, what happened?”

Kramer stood at attention. “You see this amazing outfit?” He made a show of emphasizing his get up with Vanna White style arm waving.

“Yeah, what about it? Did you steal the pants from Mike Brady?”

“What? No, of course not, I got them when I was dumpster diving. Can you believe someone threw these away?”

Jerry started at him. “I can. Go on.”

“Anyway, I wore this great ensemble while I was shopping with George at Suit Barn and we found some primo stuff, but I had to run to meet a friend for coffee, you know John Bisnetti? Yeah, I was meeting him for coffee.” Kramer began pacing in the small space but still continued passionately in the telling of his story. 

“But I decided to order some pea soup, because who doesn’t love pea soup? But the waitress was new, and she tripped over another waitress’ foot and she dumped my order of soup… ALL OVER ME.” 

He was describing the spill with his hands like he was playing charades. 

“So, not the end of the world, I clean up, but I still smell like pea soup… but you don’t notice so much cause the pants still have that little bit of a musty smell, even George noticed that when I was with him. Anyway, so I was wearing pine air freshener to throw it off.”

Jerry was shaking his head and put his hands up to form a tee. “Wait, wait… Timeout. Pine air freshener? As in air freshener, the little tree you hang in your car?”

Kramer nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, Jer... they smell nice! and they’re like four for a dollar! Just rub it on your neck, and bam! Instant freshness.”

Jerry smiled painfully. “Hey, I just had to double check.”

Kramer continued without a hitch. “Then I went to Suit Barn, I needed this suit that I saw for forty bucks… That’s like seventy percent off, Jerry!” He took a much needed breath. “I kinda forgot I smelled like soup, until I was halfway there. Then I figured, screw it. It’d take too long to go home and change, plus I was going to go buy new clothes there. So, you know.”

Pursing his lips, Jerry stopped him there. “I think I might know where this is going.”

“Anyway, Jer, I got in there and I find the suit I was looking at… but there is no employee to be found. Like everyone must be on their coffee break, so there’s no one to let me into the fitting room.”

“So I’m thinking of just trying it on right there in the store.”

Jerry held back a laugh. “Of course.”

“Well no sooner did I get my pants off to try on the slacks, that store security guard came up to me and told me to put my pants back on. They grabbed me and showed me the door!”

Jerry nodded sympathetically. “You were wearing the pea soup garbage pants and your dead animal jacket at the time and even smelled like cheap air freshner.” It was all coming together in an obvious way.

Kramer dragged his hand through his unruly hair, his voice a pained cry. “They thought I was homeless, Jerry!” Kramer continued shrieking. “They gave me a card with an address for a soup kitchen on it, and subway fare! Can you believe that?”

Jerry sucked his teeth. “Actually, I think I can.”

Kramer threw his hands up emphatically. “It was HUMILIATING.”

“THAT, I believe.”

Smoothing a hand across his face, Kramer walked towards Jerry’s fridge. He opened it and grabbed a soda. 

Then as if nothing was awry, he cracked open the soda. “So what’s new with you?” His tone was back to being conversational. Jerry was more than happy to change the subject.

“Oh nothing much, Sal Bergman just called to thank me for agreeing to work the charity gala. Same bit of schmoozing every year, but this year I’m bringing a pretty important plus one. I haven’t done that since I was dating Elaine.”

Kramer nodded then took another sip of his soda. “Oh, I remember. It’s a big to do.”

Jerry turned and sat on the sofa, pressing his back into it and leaning his head so he could stare at the ceiling and not think about how George could ruin everything at the gala.

“George just doesn’t really do fancy dress up parties, all that brown nosing and hand shaking. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a wonderful guy… but if I’m being honest, he’s just…”

“Aggressive? Unhinged? Explosive?” Kramer pointed his finger at Jerry. “Animated!”

Jerry let out a pained groan. “If I go alone, I could tell everyone he’s a doctor who helps little kids in Africa or a world famous concert pianist. The world’s an oyster if I go alone. People will believe anything. But if I bring George? Well, let’s be honest, he’s about as interesting as a potato.”

“Hey now, Jer. Potatoes are interesting, what about the Great Potato Famine, huh?”

“Yeah… I don’t think you know what that means—”

Just then Elaine bolted through the door, looking distressed. Her face was seething with anger and frustration.

“Should I even ask what happened?” Jerry was serious.

Elaine huffed and threw her myriad of accessories on the back of the sofa. 

“I waited for four hours,” she cried. “I took ONE, hear me, ONE pee break and I come back and nothing. STILL NOTHING.” She snapped with exasperation. “It’s ridiculous. SHE STOLE my package! I know it!”

Kramer was rubbing his chin. “How long did you pee for?” Elaine smacked his arm, and he backed away afraid.

“That’s not the point, Kramer!” she shouted and he flinched, stepping out of smacking distance.

Jerry stood and put himself between them. “Now, now, I mean, maybe they have the wrong address on file? It could be an honest mistake.”

Elaine pouted. “I’m just so cheesed, you know? I’d just ignore it but I really wanted those CDs.”

“CDs are pretty cool,” both men agreed.

Impressively, the door swung open again during the short pause in the conversation. It was George, dressed in a suit that was a little too loose, like he had bought it one size too big.

He was smiling at his friends in a way that told Jerry there was a good story behind it.

“Hello, friends!” There an extra flourish to his movements as he fiddled with his buttons and put his hands in his pockets drawing their attention.

Jerry took the bait. “Well, how the hell are you Mr. Constanza? You’re looking..” he paused to find the right word that would neither offend nor encourage, “...very well!”

George beamed at him with a twinkle in his eye. He even blew him a kiss which was endearing but also made Jerry fearful of what he was about to say. Jerry could sense the shenanigans.

“I am doing FANTASTIC! Absolutely Tee-Ri-Fic” 

Elaine rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I don’t think I even want to know.” She grabbed her coat and made for the door. 

“I’ll see you guys later. I have retribution to plan.” Then she stormed out.

George only just sidestepped around his hastily departing friend and sidled up to Jerry to give him a quick peck on the lips.

If Jerry had only been suspecting shenanigans, then the kiss of the guilty party surely cemented it.

“Do you like the suit?” George gazed at Jerry flirtatiously.

It was a loaded question. “Well…”

George pressed his fingers to Jerry’s lips. “Let me stop you right there.”

“This,” he stepped back and swept his hands low across his legs for emphasis. “This is the work of a genius.”

“You sure?” said Jerry, still unsure what was even going on.

George hushed him. “THIS Jerry is called beating the whole damn fashion industry. Kramer knows what I'm talking about.”

“Oh good,” Jerry deadpanned, “glad someone does.”

Kramer was enthralled and stood silently clapping for George, entirely too encouraging.

“You see, Jerry, most men shopping for a suit are of the ‘average’ variety like yours truly.” George pointed at himself obnoxiously.

“By average...do you mean, _short_?” Jerry winked at George to indicate he was only half kidding. He knew George’s height was a touchy subject but Jerry could never resist poking the bear he called partner.

“I mean, AVERAGE, Jerry!” George exclaimed pointedly at him. “If you look up the average height of the American man, and it might as well feature my photo. I’m not _short_ , I’m just the _average_!” he declared loudly, wagging accusatory fingers at each of them.

“You guys are the exception rather than the norm. Think about it!”

“ANYWAY— since most men are of the _average_ variety, I’ve discovered that at respectable establishments such as Suit Barn, they are jacking up the price of their most popular sizes, namely of the average length suits. Chest size doesn’t seem to be an issue, but length? There’s not much in my size and what there is there…. Well they are worthy of lesser men.”

Jerry squinted as he tried to make sense of George’s dramatics. It was usually a puzzle one needed to fit together as his voice got shriller.

“So! Me and Kramer, figured out how to take down the whole industry”

“The industry?” Jerry asked. His head was beginning to hurt with all this. “As in the fashion industry? You mean, ‘ _Big Fashion_ ’?” 

“Jerry, it’s real!” Kramer jumped in. “It’s discrimination against the average American. Long leg fellas like me, we can get any suit we want for a good price… but the price is double for ‘Average Joe’. It’s a crooked deal!”

George raised his hand, indicating the next part of his thrilling tale. “So, I thought to myself, Jerry. I thought, what’s stopping me from buying the tall suit, and just have it hemmed to fit? Even with alterations it would still be cheaper than the average length that is in high demand.”

Jerry mulled over the idea. “I suppose that plan has merit.”

“Okay, but how did you get them to alter it right away?” Kramer was tapping his chin thoughtfully.

George pointed at Kramer. “Great question. I didn’t.”

“But how—” Kramer was stunned, he was certain this was the suit George had seen earlier. “But this is the one you were looking at at the store. But how?”

“Dearest Kramer, I asked about the hemming, believe me.” George grinned. “I was thinking any proper tailor charges what, ten dollars to hem the slacks? Fifteen for the cuffs, maybe? Well let me tell you, the tailor at Suit Barn was outrageous. They wanted _sixty dollars_ for the adjustments. That was on top of the suit.” He said, clearly frustrated at recalling the price. 

“I said, ‘forget it’ and just bought the tall suit. I told them I was going to do it myself. They laughed but I was determined to show them.”

“On the way home I stopped at the hardware store and bought a heavy duty stapler and some matching staples. Got home, grabbed my mother’s sewing scissors, CUT the cuffs and pant hems then just folded them over and stapled it all into place.” George took a step and twirled once more for effect.

Jerry’s mouth hung open. “You STAPLED it? Is that why it looks misshapen and too big?”

George nodded, his face proud. “Yeah! And it looks pretty damn good.”

Jerry grabbed for George’s cuff where the glint of metal staples underneath was in a noticeable pattern.

“You stapled your suit.” He repeated, still in disbelief that George was so desperate to save a few bucks that he’d mutilate a suit with staples. Actually, on second thought, that was a very normal thought process for George, considering his history of penny pinching.

“I did, Jerry! It’s not as tight as I'd like it, but it was a very good deal. It’s loose enough that I can tell everyone that I lost a bunch of weight and they’d believe it. People will believe anything.”

Jerry laughed. “That’s what I always say!” 

They both shared a very short lived moment of amusement.

George coughed, his voice was becoming hoarse from the excitement, but he continued emphatically. 

“I am just so SICK and TIRED of all the nickel and diming from suit guys who purposely charge more for popular sizes. It’s not fair and I want to fight back.” He puffed out his chest and shook his fist. “Take that capitalism! Hear me? George Constanza is winning.”

Jerry hid his laughter in his palm. Next to him, Kramer WAS actually clapping.

“You know what, George, you have a point. What if everyone did their own alterations with staples? I mean, it’s easy, especially if _you_ could do it.”

“You’re right, Kramer. I DID do it.” agreed George. “That means anyone could!”

Jerry pursed his lips to avoid pointing out that that was an insult.

Kramer didn’t stop there, there was a hair brained scheme cooking up in his brain, Jerry could sense it.

“You know what, George,” Kramer started, scratching his head as he thought out loud. “If everyone did this. They’d have to reevaluate their pricing, they’d have to bring down their service prices! People wouldn’t need them anymore. Any Joe American could just get a stapler and just go to town and fix their own hems.” 

George clapped his hands excitedly. “What if they didn’t stop there? I have a suit that has some real wear marks. Holes here and there. But it’s such a great suit, that’s why I’m still hanging on it.”

“That’s it George!” Kramer shouted excitedly. “What if you just fixed it with staples? Just fixed the whole damn thing with staples? It could be your own work of art!”

“Kramer, you genius! Even if it came apart later, who cares.” George mimed the motion of a stapler, “just throw a staple in there, and BAM it’s fixed again!”

Their enthusiasm fed each other and Jerry watched them shout at each other as if they had just figured out a cure for cancer. 

“You know,” Kramer snapped his fingers. “I bet there’s money in this. What if you put together some stapler kits? Some fancy schmancy packaging and some instructions and a stapler. It could be your _own_ branded stapler.”

George squealed happily. “I LOVE IT! I mean, what, they’d cost us a few bucks to make? We could sell it for way more.” He laughed and rubbed his hands together. “We’d be ripping people off, of course. But that’s the American way!” he exclaimed matter of factly. 

“Of course it is. You know, I know a guy in the As Seen on TV business, Bob Saroka.” He continued, “Bob throws money at weird things all the time and it pays off with big bucks. Remember Hair in a Can?”

“I LOVE Hair in a Can. It’s utterly ridiculous but bald guys will try anything and I had to try it. I mean, that ad really sucked you in.”

“Now imagine if he was responsible for your stapler branding. Oh— “ Kramer stopped and did a full body convulsion with wild finger guns for emphasis. “You could call it the Tailor Stapler!” He projected loudly.

George was flailing noticeably in response. “I love it! The Tailor Stapler…. It rolls off the tongue.”

Kramer put an arm around George’s shoulders. “I’m going to call Bob, I bet he could get you in for a business meeting at his office in Vancouver, Canada.”

“ _Canada_?” Jerry questioned loudly but Kramer ignored him and pressed on.

“I know he’ll love the idea. Then you could be rolling in the dough.” He gave George a very stern look. “You just gotta dig out that old suit, do your magic, and make it look stellar! Then show it off at the meeting… what could go wrong?” asked Kramer. “It’s foolproof!”

Jerry stepped in. “Am I the only one seeing the absurdity of this idea? It’s a stapler.”

George pointed a finger aggressively at him. “Don’t crush my dreams, Jerry!”

Jerry rolled his eyes, uncertain if George was being serious. He was used to George’s constant state of ridiculous, almost as much as he was used to Kramer’s eccentricity. The reality remained that they were dating now and he had to play the stalwart supportive boyfriend at least a little.

“Fine, fine. I won’t stop you.” It was a lie. Should something go completely sideways, he would definitely swoop in to help and sort it out. 

“Good, great even! I’m going to go home to dig out that suit, and fix it up. Get Bob on the phone, Kramer! I wanna get this pitched ASAP.” He sniffed Kramer as he headed for the door. 

“Good god, Kramer. You smell like a soup kitchen!”

**Next day, at Jerry’s apartment**

Jerry sighed as he stared at the pair of fundraiser tickets. It was a big enough deal that should anything embarrassing happen, it might hurt Jerry’s reputation as a performer. 

“Damnit, why is this so hard?” he said aloud to himself while fanning the tickets nervously.

With impeccable timing, Kramer burst through the door at that same moment.

“What’s so hard? What’s going on?” Kramer cruised into the kitchen and went straight for the cabinets for a snack.

“I’m still flip flopping over whether to take George to the fundraiser. It was already a dicy decision, but this new stapler business really has me drawing the line.”

There was an ‘a-ha’ sound as Kramer found some tapioca pudding cups and dug right in.

“Drawing the line? For what, your big fancy shindig party thing?”

Jerry’s voice raised in volume and annoyance. “Yes, the big fancy shindig party thing. It’s a big deal!”

“Making loads of money is a big deal too, Jerry! This stapler business is a big deal!” He was shaking his spoon at him for emphasis.

“I don’t think I can take him if he’s wearing one of those Frankenstein stapled suits.”

Kramer huffed. “So whaddya gonna do? George is already planning to go. He wants to show off his work!” he tsked at him loudly. “Are you going to rob him of that?” he pressed. “Are you going to LIE to him, Jerry?”

Jerry touched his chin. “I was considering it.”

“That’s despicable, Jerry. I thought you were better than that. Lying to your partner, for what? _Vanity_?”

“Settle down, it’s not as bad as you make it out to be, besides maybe that guy will come through for you and George. Maybe he’ll have to fly out to Canada when the fundraiser happens.”

Kramer was tucking into a second pudding. “Oh you know what, I forgot to mention, he DID actually come through.”

Jerry squinted. “What?”

“Yeah, Bob was thrilled by the prospect and wants him to come down to Vancouver for a meeting this weekend. He wants him on a plane Saturday morning. 8 AM, sharp.”

Jerry’s mind reeled with the new information. “Kramer! Why didn’t you say this sooner? With George having to fly to Canada, he’ll have to miss the fundraiser!”

Puzzled, Kramer grabbed the calendar from the wall. “But your shindig is on Friday, Jer,” he scratched his head. “He’s leaving Saturday… He can still go to both.”

Jerry tutted reassuringly. “Not if I tell him the Gala is on Saturday. Just one little white lie, and he won’t feel bad for missing it, and I won’t feel bad about not inviting him. No guilt on either side. No hiccups in the relationship dynamic.” He concluded with a fist pump.

Kramer scoffed “But you’d be lying to him! And I will not be a part of this lie!”

Jerry jabbed a finger into Kramer’s bony shoulder. “Oh, yes you will. You started all this mess with the stapler business. You won’t tell him.” His voice pitched lower. “And no one gets hurt.”

Kramer’s chin wobbled. “Aye carumba, Jerry. Fine, I won’t say anything but you better be careful. You should be supportive of George’s dreams! Just think, if this deal works out he could be driving a fancy new sports car and picking up handsome lumberjacks in Canada who are SUPPORTIVE of his innovations. So you know, you better be careful pal.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Jerry deadpanned as Kramer dashed out the door as quickly as he had appeared.

Jerry enjoyed exactly one minute of solitude before his apartment buzzer sounded with a familiar voice. 

“It’s me.” Elaine. Perfect, if anyone was going to agree with him over this fundraiser business it would be her.

She strolled through the door with a puzzled look on her face. “Where was Kramer off to in such a hurry?”

Jerry leaned against the back of the couch. “His stupid contact in Canada wants to get George down there for a meeting to talk about his Stapler idea this weekend.”

Elaine scrunched up her face, confused. “Stapler idea…?”

Jerry had forgotten completely that Elaine had missed George’s latest foray into ridiculousness.

“Well, long story short, he didn’t like paying reasonable amounts of money to have suits hemmed and instead decided to take matters into his own hands by becoming a crusader against tailors and has taken to altering his suits with, of all things, a stapler.”

“A stapler? Like an office stapler? For paper?” she asked, obviously confused by all this new information.

“Well, I think he got a heavy duty one… but yeah, a stapler.”

“That can’t be good.” 

“It isn’t,” he said. “They're going to shill the concept to this guy in Canada who produces ‘Made for TV’ junk like spray on Hair in a Can.”

Elaine grimaced. “Ugh, couldn’t stand anyone wearing that stuff. One of my nicest white blouses was ruined on the subway when a guy’s hair melted onto me. I had to throw it in the trash. So gross.”

“Even though I’m not thrilled by my boyfriend walking around in a stapled suit, it’s not necessarily a deal breaker. However, I’ve got that fancy fundraiser this Friday, and Kramer’s wants him to be a walking advertisement for their dumb idea.”

Elaine frowned, piecing together the information. “He’s not going to try to wear a stapled suit to the gala, is he?”

“I think he’s planning on it,” said Jerry plainly. “Frankly, I don’t think I can handle that.”

“Jerry, you can’t take him,” said Elaine gravely. “Your career can’t take that kind of hit. You’re a comedian, people are supposed to be laughing at your jokes, not your boyfriend.”

“I know, but what choice do I have? He’s my boyfriend, they’re going to ask questions.” whined Jerry, throwing his hands in the air. “And people ask a lot more questions about a partner, than your friend. That’s why choosing your plus one is very tricky business.”

He began to pace the floor rubbing his chin thoughtfully before continuing.

“People act different towards a partner, than your run-of-the-mill ‘ _friend_ ’; for one, there’s far more criticism.” He paused then, treating his rant like a bit from his routine. “If you, for example, show up at a party with a friend who later ends up drunk, wearing a lampshade and kissing your boss’ wife, well, that’s just ‘George from college’ and everyone just nods and shakes their heads in understanding ‘yup, I know how that is. Silly George’.” 

“Now, if George, my ‘ _significant other_ ’,” he threw up air quotes, “if he accidentally sneezes into the spinach dip… well, _clearly_ you have no redeeming judgement of character and questionable moral values.”

“So, you’re just going to go alone?” asked Elaine, unphased either way.

“I was considering it. It’d be easier, plus I could make up an elaborate backstory for George’s absence, which I find exciting.”

She laughed at that. “George Constanza the human rights lawyer does sound impressive,” she mused.

“Thank you! You get it. When I told Kramer that I was planning on telling George that the Gala was on Saturday instead of Friday so he’d have to miss it, he got angry at me.”

Elaine thought about it. “I don’t see anything wrong with that. I’ve never been completely honest in a relationship. Who hasn’t told a little white lie to a partner?” 

“Exactly! You get it! In my opinion, lies are what makes a relationship stronger. It just shows that you care enough about a person to lie to them, and that you want to protect their feelings.” his tone was laced with certainty as he ranted.

“How else can you tackle minefield type questions like ‘do I look fatter in this shirt?’ ‘Is my voice annoying?’ or my personal favorite, ‘Am I looking balder than usual?’ That last one is a trap and technically you are obligated to lie in that scenario.” He pointed at Elaine for emphasis.

“You know, I’m not one to ever really say this,” Elaine’s tone was that of concern. “But are you really okay with lying to George? I’m loathe to admit it, but I think you might have something really special with him.”

“I’m fine. It’ll be fine.” said Jerry, completely dismissive of Elaine’s rare moment of thoughtfulness. He began pacing again, thinking and weighing his options. Then he stopped and turned to Elaine.

“So, what are you doing Friday night?”

Elaine shrugged. “Just going back to the trenches to keep watch on my neighbor who stole _another_ package from under my nose.”

“How many is that now?” 

“Three,” she hissed. “I’ve tried calling Columbia House but I can never get to a human operator. I swear they leave you on hold on purpose so that you give up trying to call them.”

“I bet that’s how they stick people with memberships; it’s impossible to cancel over the phone,” said Jerry. 

“Ha! You’re probably right,” Elaine agreed. “Anyway, you’re not thinking of taking me are you?” she glared suspiciously.

“Don’t you like shrimp cocktails?” he tempted.

“I do… but Jerry, I _hate_ those things. They’re _so_ boring.” Elaine whined audibly.

“Then just go as my friend!” he suggested. “Like I said, friends don’t have the same obligations that partners do. You can just spend all night at the cocktail bar, you don’t even have to make eye contact if you don’t want to.”

“Well, _that_ is very tempting,” she admitted. “Plus, since I’m not going as your girlfriend this time… I _could_ flirt with any handsome guy I see and not have to worry about it, since I’m just your _friend_.”

Jerry grinned. “Okay it’s settled. You, me, the Gala on Friday. I’ll do stand up, you eat shrimp and flirt with men in tuxedos.”

There was a hint of approval in Elaine’s voice. “I think that’s a win-win-win.”

“Exactly. Now, just don’t tell George, I love him, but you know...”

“I do,” Elaine nodded her head in agreement. “Don’t worry, I get it, and you won’t hear a peep from me.” 

Elaine pretended to zip her lips.

With impeccable timing George then came strolling through the door. 

“Hey guys, what’s up? What’s going on?”

Jerry and Elaine scrambled and she grabbed for Jerry’s phone in haste. 

“I just came over to use Jerry’s phone. I keep calling Columbia House to cancel my subscription since I never get any of my CDs because of my awful neighbor, but the line is always busy. It’s just elevator music after elevator music.” She mimed a gagging motion. “I think I’ve heard every song Michael Bolton has every recorded by now.” 

George laughed and nodded approvingly. “I appreciate that level of persistence. I am here for sticking it to the big guys.”

“You’re thinking about that thirty dollars you saved earlier, aren't you?” Jerry grinned fondly at him. 

George grinned stupidly. “I sure am.”

Jerry sidled up to him and flung an arm around his shoulder. “Look at you, is your dignity really only worth thirty bucks?”

“Maybe,” George smirked, “it _is_ a buyer’s market.” 

They shared a little laugh and they could hear Elaine gagging from across the room. George ignored her and traced a path with his finger across Jerry’s chest to his heart. “Despite that depressing factoid, you still continue to date me, God knows why.”

Jerry dragged a palm across his face. 

“You’re just that irresistible,” he deadpanned but there was an underlying warmth to his words. 

Yes, they ragged on each other, but they also cared for each other deeply. They would have never made the jump from friendship to romance had there not been a certain something that had Jerry coming back for more. Maybe it was George’s way of being a square peg in a world full of round holes, or he just had a thing for short but feisty New York men with a penchant for shenanigans. Either way, he was strangely happy.

George clapped his hands to snap them from their fuzzy moment. “Listen guys, things are looking up and I need to yell about it.”

At that, Jerry laughed and Elaine snorted. George puffed out his chest despite her derision.

“You know, the real reason I’m here is that I have some WONDERFUL news to share with you guys.”

Jerry feigned surprise. “Get out! What is it?”

George’s face immediately looked like a ball of bright sunshine, he was just _that_ happy. 

Jerry couldn’t help but listen intently with a big dumb knowing grin on his face. Immediately, he thought back to what Elaine had asked him, and his throat became dry. He kept reassuring himself that this was to protect George’s feelings. How could he even consider diminishing George’s enthusiasm? It was unthinkable.

“It’s that Made for TV guy, he loves my idea! He wants me to do a full pitch meeting with him on the weekend. Me and Kramer leave on Saturday! Can you believe that?”

Jerry put on his most distraught face. “Oh no, Saturday? Really? Oh that’s really amazing news… but too bad you’re going to miss the Gala.”

George furrowed his brow, obviously confused. “No, I’m not. The Gala is Friday, I can still go with you.”

“Oh no, I must have forgotten to tell you,” he grimaced. “It got moved! It’s now on Saturday.”

“What?” George’s voice was heavy with disappointment. “Why would they move it? Why is this the first I’ve heard of it?” George asked suspiciously.

Jerry shrugged, “I must have just forgot to tell you. Anyway, it was just some kind of scheduling conflict.” He reached out and gently touched George’s arm. “It’s too bad you can’t go, but I wouldn’t want you to miss out on a big opportunity.”

“You’re right, I can’t miss it. You’re not mad are you?” George’s eyes were soft and pleading and it made Jerry’s heart skip a beat. He was immediately overwhelmed with guilt over lying to him.

Jerry shook his head. “Oh no, I’m fine. I’ll tough it out solo. It’s just a boring dinner party with old rich guys.” He couldn’t help smiling and brushing it off. George was just so genuinely happy with his opportunity that Jerry couldn’t help but feel caught up in the stupidity as well.

“True, true.. You know, instead of wasting a ticket. You should just take Elaine.” George stated simply and both Jerry and Elaine were caught by surprise.

Elaine mouth hung open speechless before she answered. “You know, I’m not the biggest fan of the event, but I _guess_ I could suffer through it as a personal favor to Jerry. You know, if he _really_ didn’t want to go alone that is.”

Jerry feigned letting the idea roll around in his brain with a good deal of acting. “You know, not a bad idea! Why let the ticket go to waste, right?”

George smiled and gave Jerry a quick peck on the cheek that immediately warmed him from head to toe. 

“Good, it’s settled,” said George, his voice was matter of fact. “Elaine will go in my place.”

Both Elaine and Jerry looked at each other, nodding. 

“It’s a plan,” they agreed.

“Now, sorry to run,” said George as he reached for the door, “but I have a suit to staple.”

**At Jerry’s Apartment, the night of the Gala**

It was approaching six before Jerry heard the familiar buzz of a visitor. He pressed the button and heard Elaine’s voice, finally. Relief washed over him as waited for her to come up.He had been ready and waiting for the last hour. 

She dragged herself through his door moments later, dolled up in a black velvet low cut dress and her finest jewelry.

“I’m here.” There was some exhaustion to her words and Jerry was immediately concerned.

“What happened? I thought you were going to meet me here for five? I’m not going to have a lot of time to meet and greet before I need to take the stage.”

“I know, I know. I’m SO sorry,” she complained. “Everything was going to plan, I was showered and dressed, and literally ready to leave. So I did what every normal person does before they leave for the night.”

“Check yourself out in the mirror.” Jerry finished with a bit of a grin.

Elaine glared. “No, I went to the bathroom,” she corrected. “Let me also tell you that between all the layers you need to keep all _this_ together,” she waved at her midsection. “It’s kinda a chore.”

“I bet.” added Jerry.

“Anyway, I had been waiting all week for a call back from Columbia House because I _still_ can't get through to a flipping human operator and just when I sat down, I heard the phone ring!” 

“No!” Jerry was intrigued.

“Normally, I don’t bother with answering in that situation cause duh, indisposed,” she explained, “but get this!”

“SOON as I hear the machine start, it’s a live HUMAN, a human operator from Columbia House. So I attempted to stumble my way into the living room to grab the phone before they could hang up. But instead I just ended up tripping over my pantyhose and banging my head on the coffee table.” Elaine reached up to point at a red mark on her forehead. 

She pushed her head into Jerry’s space and forced him to examine it. “Is it really noticeable?”

The spot where she was pointing was only a little red. “Nah, not really. I think the damage is more emotional than physical, in this case”

Elaine groaned. “God, so anyway. That’s what happened, and you know what else? Since I KNOW there’s going to be good food there, I decided to starve myself all day just so I can just go hog wild for shrimp. So on top of everything else, I have low blood sugar.”

Jerry went straight to the fridge. “Do you want an apple? I don’t need you to murder anyone.”

“I’ll be fine as long as you let me bolt for the buffet soon as we get there.”

Jerry mulled over it. “Let’s shake a few hands and then part ways, I’m fine with that.”

Elaine took a deep breath and smoothed her hair. “Okay, let’s do this.”

**At George’s apartment**

George was staring at himself in his bathroom mirror. In a fit of inspiration, he decided to be aggressive with the alterations on his old suit. It was more work than he expected, but he was making headway. The end result was a lot of chalk marks where he was planning on stapling seams. He had been awkwardly trying to make a chalk line on his shoulder when there was a knock at his door.

He opened the door. “Kramer! What are you doing here?”

Kramer strolled in and carefully navigated his way through a floor covered in bits of cut up cloth and boxes of staples.

“Just had to check in on my business partner! I’m just so excited! I had to come see how you were doing with the suit.”

George grinned. “Of course, of course. Give me a minute, here, and I’ll show you.”

Minutes later, he entered the room modeling his current work of art. 

“So I’ve already go the sides stapled,” he indicated with his hand. “I did the cuffs and pant hems earlier. I’ve got to admit that it’s really starting to look good.” He unbuttoned the jacket and did a little catwalk strut for Kramer. “I feel full of confidence and swagger!”

“And as you should, George. This is great stuff. Now, give us a twirl!” George did his best supermodel impression and they both laughed. Kramer furrowed his brow and took a good look at the back. 

“Is this really the suit with the hole in the…?”

“The _seat_?” George finished, memories of that fateful day where he blew out the seat of his pants on a date to the movie theater where he ended up wrapping his jacket around his waist to leave with dignity. It had been embarrassingly memorable, but then most of the things in his life were.

“I actually just finished fixing the crotch seam not too long ago. I flipped it inside out and gave it a staple-rino. Surprisingly easy. I don’t know what the big deal is with tailors. They’re job isn’t that hard. Draw some lines, cut some bits of fabric, a little fold and a couple of stitches.”

Kramer was nodding vehemently. “Yeah, yeah EXACTLY. See this is why the Tailor Stapler is going to be life changing. No more tailors! No more measuring tapes! Just a little simple DIY and bam! You’re ready for business!”

George exclaimed. “Yes! Exactly!” He picked up his red stapler that he had found at the hardware store. “This little baby is going to make us some serious money.”

Kramer reached for it. “May I?” George handed it to him. 

“You should put your name on this. This is now intellectual property.”

“What am I going to do, just write on it with a marker?”

“No no, you gotta make it look professional. Do you have one of those home label makers?”

George frowned. “I dunno… oh wait! Yes, yes I do. My mother gave me one when she was having me label all my stuff when I moved out. Wait here.”

George left the room and returned moments later. “Here we go.” his fingers tapped at the keypad quickly and then the little machine clicked and whirred to completion.

He cut the little strip and reached for the stapler. “There.”

Kramer read it out loud. “Tailor Stapler by George Constanza.” He made some very approving noises. “It’s like ‘The Grill’ by George Foreman.” He whistled. “Very fancy. I like it.”

“So Kramer, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” George’s tone snapped them both to reality. “So we’ll just meet at the airport? You got my ticket?” Kramer slapped his palm to his forehead. “I knew there was another reason I came here.” He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out George’s ticket that was haphazardly stuck to the car air freshener that he had in there.

“There you go buddy. Pine fresh.”

George rolled his eyes. “Um.. thanks,” he said in his most sarcastic tone.

“Well,” Kramer clapped his hands together to denote the ending of their conversation. “I'll let you go back to making magic. See you in the morning, buddy. We’re going to shoot for the stars!”

Despite his friend’s _clearly_ ridiculous phrasing, he felt the same joy over the prospect of heading to Canada. Things were looking up!

**At the Gala**

It didn’t take long for Sal and his organizer buddies find their way to Jerry and his guest. 

“Jerry! You made it!” Sal was a largish man with a very gregarious demeanor and he was very thorough with his handshake. One by one, he introduced Elaine to the wealthy socialites.

“Elaine, my friend here, was kind enough to fill in for my partner last minute.“ He explained. “My partner, George, love him to pieces, couldn’t make it.”

“So what does this George of yours do?” Sal’s friend, Tony, asked with curiosity. 

Jerry had rehearsed this bit all afternoon. It was the performer in him, he couldn’t help it. 

“Well, he’s actually a social worker.” He leapt into the answer as if he was doing his routine. “He’s such a kindhearted person. I’m so proud of him working with New York’s underprivileged youth.” There were some very approving oohs and ahhs. “He really likes to work at shelters and kitchens, too. Right there with the people who need him the most. He makes me proud, every day.”

Sal clapped Jerry on his shoulder. “What is his full name? I’m sure myself and my wife, Lorraine, would love to look him up and see which charities we could help him with.”

Jerry coughed nervously. One thing he didn’t bank on was Sal being interested enough to want to help.

“Um, it’s George Constanza,” his voice quieted so maybe they’d mishear it. “But he’s you know, he’s all over the place. In fact, he’s preparing to go to Canada to help with a function over there. He’s just all over the place.” Jerry hand-waved comically. “No one specific charity gets his sole attention. He goes wherever he’s needed.” 

“Speaking of being needed,” he threw a finger gun at his captive audience. “You guys are doing amazing work here. This is a real solid turn out, right Elaine?” He turned and she was already gone.

One of Sal’s buddies was pointing at the buffet line. “I think she was a little hungry.”

Jerry laughed and grabbed for a champagne flute that a waiter was offering. “Looks that way,” agreed.

“You say she’s a friend, though,” another one of Sal’s friends prodded. 

“Yes! Very much so. She’s a good friend. We’ve known each other a long time. We actually met in college, actually.” That was a lie but it sounded solid enough for his curious company.

“And she is unattached?” The man’s tone turned lecherous, but he also knew Elaine could handle any creep. She was a New Yorker after all. So he just smiled. “Yup, totally single.”

The man seemed very content with that answer and Jerry felt it was time to move on from the conversation. The stage where he was going to perform was being set up and he needed to prepare.

“Well, I’m going to go check on Elaine and then I’m off to get ready to perform. Thanks again, and I’ll catch you after the show.”

All the men raised their champagne flutes at him before dispersing.

It had been a hot ten minutes of waiting in line at the buffet table and Elaine was beyond irritated. An odd array of people had said hello to her, each noticing at some point that she had come with Jerry. 

She didn’t take any care to remember names, because as far as she was concerned, she was just here for the free food, and maybe get a few numbers from good looking men. 

Sadly, the turnout was disappointing so far. Only the old, grey, and wrinkly had shown any interest in her. And to be honest, she hadn’t hit that level of desperation yet in her life.

The line moved slowly. It figured that by the time she had made it to the food, the platter that she had spied full of plump shrimp, was already emptied. 

Her stomach growled and she grit her teeth as she stalked the room for a server. A well dressed young woman in a starched white shirt with a tray of champagne flutes was the first one she crossed paths with, and she tapped her on the shoulder.

“Hi, excuse me, miss. Weird question, but there was a massive platter of shrimp at the buffet table, and it was cleared out in minutes. Do you know when they’re going to bring out another?”

“I’m so sorry ma’am, that’s a whole different group of servers. I just serve beverages.” And with that she was off to serve the flutes.

Elaine turned on her heel and scrambled into the walking path of another server, and he expertly side stepped her and kept his brisk pace across the room.

“This is absolute garbage.” She went to stand back in line at the buffet table, making mental notes of how quickly the servers replaced platters, she was going to get shrimp one way or another.

It had seemed like forever, but in reality it was probably half an hour. Her keen sense of laser focus had kept track of the platter rotation and the next platter due to be filled was the damned shrimp.

She paced like a lion in captivity and kindly brushed off any unattractive person who attempted conversation. 

Of course, just as she saw the server with the tray, some unattractive philanthropist socialite decided to make a pass at her.

“I’m Jim.” He said. “You must be Elaine, I saw you with Jerry.” 

Elaine fought to not snap at him. Sure she came to this dismal event to eat and flirt, but eating was priority number one, plus the guy was just a touch to old, too pudgy, and too bald for her taste.

“I hear you’re a friend of Jerry’s?” His tone was pleasant enough, but the way his tone lingered on friend suggested that she was supposed to explain what kind of ‘friend’ that was exactly.

“Oh yeah, we’ve been friends for a long time,” she repeated, “ _just_ friends.” She was attempting to look over his shoulder like a thief in a heist movie. She found herself counting the seconds under her breath, waiting for the right moment to act.

“He told me you guys met in college, how ‘bout that.” Mentally she swore, as Jim made another lame attempt at flirting. “Oh yeah, that’s right, college buddies.” She gave him her fakest smile.

There was an awkward moment as Jerry took the stage and the rich attendees began taking seats at the tables set around the small stage. The lights were lowered and the room was now dark. It made watching for the servers just a little tougher.

“Has he always been into comedy?” He crept closer as he tried to talk over Jerry opening his act on stage. Elaine held back from cringing noticeably and attempted to put a little space between them.

“Um, yeah, he’s always been funny.”

“Good golly, I can’t imagine how much fun it must be to have a comedian in your life.” She swore under her breath as she saw the server with the shrimp head for the table. There was already a mass of humans encroaching on it like hungry pigs.

“Yeah, it’s a real riot.” She let out a labored breath. “Listen, Jim is it? I know where this is going, and I’m flattered, but I not really interested, sorry.” Jim looked deflated but she couldn’t let it bother her, she was very, very hungry.

She threw up her elbows, and attempted to weasel her way through the throng of guests. To her frustration, the vultures were already scooping up shrimp by the handful.

That’s it, she snapped despite promising Jerry a drama free evening. She was starving and she didn’t care about anything other than the shrimp. Elaine ducked under the arms of the guests nearest the platter and grabbed for the edges with shaking hands. 

The server who had just put it down, tried to rip it from her grasp while he shouted at her. “Ma’am! What are you doing? Stop that.”

She was a woman enraged. “I need the shrimp, I’m starving!” and she clutched the tray with superhuman strength and tugged at it with all her might. The guests in her way backed up in fear. Only the server fought her. The shrimp jiggled around threatening to find the floor.

It was poorly timed, she’ll admit.

She had tugged on the tray like a child and the server had not been prepared for her hunger and determination. He had let go, resigned to remove himself from her outburst and the shrimp, in their delicious glory had gone flying in every direction within a five foot radius. On top of the shrimp shower that now littered her dress and even her hair, and the dresses and pants of everyone near her, the platter had caught the edge of the cocktail sauce. The resulting effect was a shower of shrimp sauce splatter all over her face, and dress.

There was an eerie silence as everyone at the tables stopped to look at her. Even Jerry had stopped mid-routine to take in the scene.

She made eye contact with Jerry, mouthing the words ‘I’m sorry’ to him before she took a long, deep breath in order to straighten her back and face the mass of socialites with what dignity she had left.

Then Jerry made a hand signal request for a spotlight to hit her.

He spoke as if the situation had been a planned interruption. “My friend, Elaine, everyone!” There was an awkward clapping from a handful of confused people.

“She’s a longtime friend of mine from college, you know how that goes.” There was more clapping. He had grabbed his mic stand and really leaned into the bit.

“And don’t let that shrimp sauce fool you folks, she’s single and _very_ unattached.”

The audience roared with laughter and clapping.

Elaine sighed, completely resigned. “Well, I’ll just show myself out.”

On the way to the door she saw Jim, who looked at her with apprehension and she couldn’t help herself. “Still want my number?”

**At Jerry’s Apartment**

The sun wasn’t even up yet when the erratic knocking and shouting woke him from a fun filled dream where he and George were on a beach taking in the sun and drinking margaritas. The chill of early morning brought him right back to reality. He looked at the time on his alarm clock and pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed to make new friends; ones who had boundaries.

“Jerry!” Kramer was yelling his name, and Jerry just muttered. “Alright, alright, keep your shirt on.” He unlatched the door and found Kramer standing there with a big ratty duffel bag hanging from his shoulder.

“What took you so long, Jer?” Kramer was his usual level of clueless.

“It’s four-thirty in the morning what are you even doing here?” His sleep addled brain had forgotten that today was the day Kramer and George were supposed to be flying to Canada.

“You gotta start taking your vitamins, I think your memory is starting to go.”

Jerry rolled his eyes. “Kramer! Just spit it out.”

Kramer did a dramatic body convulsion. “Geeze, Jerry, you are pretty cranky in the morning.”

“KRAMER!” he repeated louder, almost yelling but not quite.

“Okay, okay, I just wanted to let you know I was leaving for the airport.” He put his hands up defensively, “and before you ask, I’m leaving this early so I can get the good parking before it’s all gone.”

Jerry just nodded solemnly, and Kramer finally took the hint. 

“Anywho, you got my spare key in case you need anything and otherwise see you Monday, big guy! I’m meeting George at the airport and then it’s ‘Say hello to Canada, eh?!’’” He saluted and turned on his heel to bound down the hall happily while Jerry very seriously contemplated moving.

**At Elaine’s Apartment**

The alarm clock rang just a little too loud for Elaine’s liking and she frowned as she dragged herself from her bed. Belatedly, she noticed that she was still wearing her dress from last night’s festivities, and worse, it was still covered in dried shrimp sauce.

She sighed and headed for the shower, too tired to care.

The hot water was amazing, it did everything to help ease the tension in her shoulders from her impromptu hunger induced tantrum over shrimp. Well, she thought, it seemed very unlikely that she’d ever have to go to another one of those events, not with Jerry anyway. 

Elaine had only just gotten dressed when there was a knock at the door. She bounds towards the door excitedly, hoping against hope that it’d finally be her packages of CDs.

Instead of a delivery person, it was a middle aged lady in nursing scrubs. Elaine squinted at her, confused. 

The lady greeted her. ‘Hello, are you Elaine Benes?” 

Elaine flashed a smile politely. “I am, what’s going on?” 

The lady pointed at the crotchety old lady’s apartment. “I work with Mrs. Estevez. She asked me to bring you over to her apartment. She has things for you.”

Elaine scrunched her face up in anger. She knew it. She called it. This was it. Time for confrontation, and she was prepared.

**At the airport**

After several loops and a thorough tour of at least two parking lots, Kramer finally felt satisfied that he had found a good enough spot. It was not too tight, not too wide and was neatly sandwiched between more expensive, and more desirable cars. He contorted his body as he exited the old car, careful not to ding anything. He threw his duffel over his shoulder and shivered. There was a considerable chill in the air but he was smug knowing how warm he was in his vintage coat.

He yawned as he strode his way towards the departures level, and a very sturdy looking bench caught his eye. Kramer paused in consideration. The sun was just peeking over the horizon and his flight was still many hours away, maybe he could sneak in a little nap.

“You’re a New Yorker in a great fur coat,” he muttered to himself. “You can take a nap here, you’ve got enough time, big guy.” He glanced around for security and didn’t immediately see anyone. He sat on the bench and tucked the duffel under his head to use as a pillow, and stretched the fur coat over himself like a blanket. “That’s the thing about the airport, there’s always someone watching, so this’ll be safe as anything,” he yawned and felt exhaustion pull at his eyelids.

He thought he’d only been out for a minute, maybe five tops when he felt someone jabbing his arm with a blunt object.

“SIR! I’m going to need you to get up,” the individual yelled and Kramer blinked away the sleep and found himself a bit confused. “You can’t sleep on a public bench.”

“Uh… what? Who’s there?” Kramer mumbled as he drew his hand up to wipe at some drool. He winced as his eyes adjusted to the now full sunlight of morning. He was only faintly aware of where he was and what he was supposed to be doing.

“Oh, I was just taking a short nap before my…” the crushing realization that he had a flight to make hit him like a rock to the head.

“OH MY GOD. My flight, I gotta catch my flight!” He shouted and he shivered noticeably. 

“And my bag!” He rubbed his arms and he tried to stretch his legs but they were cramping from laying on the bench and were angry with the cold air, and he realized why he was so cold.

“OH MY GOD MY DUMPSTER COAT.” He knew he was shouting but he didn’t care. “SOMEONE TOOK MY COAT.”

The security guard refused to show emotion as he just stood unmoved by Kramer’s dramatics.

“I’m going to have to see a boarding pass from you, Sir,” he spoke calmly like he did this every day. “If you don’t, I’m going to have to remove you from the property. It is expressly forbidden for vagrants to sleep overnight on benches.”

Kramer was racking his brain and running his hand through his already crazy hair and the security guard was quickly losing patience.

“My bag, someone took my bag and my coat!” He was looking all around the bench in case the coat and bag were underneath. “It had my boarding pass in it, I swear!” he rambled as he scoured the area around the bench. 

“It had my wallet and my license… and my keys! It has my keys for my car!” His voice was panicked and yet the security guard wasn’t buying any of it, thinking instead that it was all an act to stall getting thrown out.

The security guard grabbed Kramer’s arm in a commanding way. “Yeah, we’ll see about that, sir.” He gave Kramer a little sniff. “You smell quite rank. How long you been homeless?” 

Kramer stuttered, completely stunned by the question,“I’m not homeless, I swear!” But the guard was some pushing him towards an airport security entrance.

“I have an apartment, and a car!” cried Kramer.

“Is that why you take hobo baths with pine car fresheners and smell like soup?”

The way his appearance was being misconstrued dawned on him. “Oh no, it’s not like that.” Kramer pleaded and tried to wrench his arm out of the guard’s grip unsuccessfully. “It’s the coat I was wearing, I found it in a dumpster. That’s why I smell, I swear!”

Security guard just shook his head. “Listen, I’m not here to judge. My aunt Betty had mental problems and was on the streets for years. It doesn’t matter how you ended up here, but I gotta take you in and get you some help you need.”

“But I gotta go to Canada! I’m an entrepreneur!” Kramer’s voice echoed loudly as he was dragged into a dark corridor to where all vagrants and violators ended up… airport jail.

**At Jerry’s Apartment**

It had taken Jerry some effort, but he had managed to get back to sleep for a few hours. Of course, George had called soon as he had felt himself finally drifting off again. 

He’d have been angry, except he was still touched that George had called to say goodbye in the first place. One day, hopefully soon, George would be saying goodbye to him before trips in person, instead of on the phone. But he believed everything happened in its own time, and neither wanted to rush anything.

So instead of trying to go back to sleep, he accepted defeat and went straight for the coffee maker.

While he waited for the pot to finish, a familiar buzz sounded.

He pressed the button, expecting Elaine, the only person of their friend group not currently at the airport.

“It’s me, Elaine.” Of course it was. Bleary eyed, he waited for her to arrive.

She skulked through the door this time.

They both remembered yesterday’s shenanigans with devastating clarity and there was an awkward tension between them waiting for the first person to crack.

They both tried to talk but ended up talking over each other and it was just a mess of spoken words.

Jerry took a deep breath. “You first.”

Elaine bit her lip and spoke with sincerity. “So that happened.”

Jerry pursed his lips. “Yes, yes it did.”

“I don’t know what came over me.” She tried to explain. “I was just SO hungry, and everyone was just inhaling that food, and then that guy was hitting on me and I lost track of the platter and then… I don’t know… I just lost it.”

“It happens.” Jerry shrugged and Elaine looked at him puzzled.

“Really? That’s it. The whole big drama over not wanting George to embarrass you, so you take me and I make a total ass of myself...and that’s it?” Elaine asked, dumbfounded. She threw her hands in the air and mimicked his words. “It _happens_.” 

“Honestly, it worked out surprisingly well. Many of the attendees actually thought ‘Shrimp girl’ was a solid addition to my usual routine.”

Elaine rubbed her forehead like she could magically forget her antics. “God, no. Really?”

Jerry nodded. “I even got an encore. That’s never happens.”

Elaine sighed. “Well that’s good, at least it worked out, I guess.”

“I’m sorry for the jokes I made at your expense though," he apologized. "Don’t take it personally but you forced my hand with that shrimp induced tantrum… so I had to make do.” 

“It’s fine," she admitted. "I’ll survive. Safe to say, I won’t have to see anybody from that party again.”

“Well, now, that’s where you’re wrong.” Jerry stated loudly, just a bit of mischief in his voice.

“Do I even want to know?” She sucked the air through her teeth.

“Oh, I think you do.” Jerry searched through a pile of last night’s miscellaneous items. “Aha,” He exclaimed as he found the cocktail napkin with a number on it. He handed it to Elaine who accepted it with a puzzled expression on her face.

“A guy came up to me after the show and explained that he really felt bad for 'Shrimp Girl' and that he was interested in taking her for a proper meal some time.”

Elaine blushed red as she laughed nervously. “Dear god, I hope it’s not that Jim guy.”

Jerry pointed a finger at her. “Not a Jim, it’s a Daniel. He’s mid to late forties, slim, well groomed and has all of his hair. I’d give him a chance especially when he has _actually_ seen you at your worst and was still interested. ”

Despite all the build up and worry, the evening had worked out surprisingly well; the show was good, and Elaine got a number from an admirer. 

Elaine fiddled with the napkin and laughed. “It's still not the weirdest way I’ve gotten a guy’s number’” 

“Wait!” she exclaimed. “This reminds me,” she put down the napkin and reached for her purse and dug through it. She pulled out a plastic sandwich bag filled with cookies.

“These are homemade cookies!” Elaine said as she opened the bag and gave one to Jerry. 

He took a bite and his eyes widened with amazement, “wait, are these snickerdoodles?”

Elaine bit into one herself and exclaimed, “they totally are! And they’re delicious!”

“Who made them?” he was already reaching for the bag to get another.

“You wouldn’t even believe it,” she said brightly. “You know the crotchety old woman down the hall that I was convinced was stealing my packages?”

Jerry nodded, “I’m sensing a story here.”

“Well, turns out she’s deaf! That’s why she never talks with anyone! So when her caretaker made her routine visit, she came knocking at my door asking me to go see her.”

“Anyway, apparently Columbia House has had the wrong address on file the whole time for my packages. The old lady was signed the whole explanation, and her caretaker translated. It was wild!” she continued after taking a moment to chew. 

“She had kept the packages safe until her caretaker made her visit, and together they called Columbia House and got it fixed. So she apologized and made me some homemade cookies.”

“So no mail thief,” Jerry let the details wash over him. 

Elaine shrugged. “No thief!” 

Jerry smiled. “What a wild twist. So all that drama, all that worry for nothing.”

“It’s funny, because I walked over to the apartment and literally started yelling at this poor woman and then the caretaker told me she was deaf. So I mean, it’s a good thing she's deaf because I felt like such an ass.”

“Ouch,” Jerry agreed. “You finally got your chance for retribution and she just ruined it by being super nice and apologetic. That’s worse than her being a thief. She made you cookies.”

Elaine cringed. “Yup. So anticlimactic.”

“On that solemn note, let us all remember that George and Kramer are currently flying to Canada to pitch a commercialized version of a dollar store stapler to a guy whose claim to fame is spray on Hair in a Can.’”

Elaine smirked. “Well, maybe it’ll work out?”

“Somehow I feel like that would make it worse.” They both laughed. 

Just then the phone rang.

Jerry grabbed for his cordless and answered. “Y-ello.”

Elaine watched with curiosity as Jerry’s face went from shock, to frustration and then to resigned acceptance. 

He ended the call, and Elaine just stood waiting and staring at him. “Who was that?”

Immediately he grabbed for his coat. “Uh, that was Kramer. He’s being detained or something.”

“Detained?” Elaine’s voice was that of disbelief and maybe just a hint of concern. “Where?”

“Airport jail, apparently? Wanna come for a ride to bail him out?”

Elaine made a face. “Uh, I got, um,” she fished for an excuse, “ _stuff_ , and _things_... _to do_.”

Jerry nodded. “Yeah I get it. I’ll go alone.”

“You’re a good friend, Jer!” Elaine shouted over her shoulder as she bolted down the hall ahead of him. 

**At the airport**

It had taken George almost an hour to finally get checked in for his flight. There was a good deal of finangling with the ticket agent since he hadn’t bought the ticket and yada yada yada.

So he was extra irritable by the time he found his way into the security line. He stopped in his tracks and took in the sight of rows upon rows of people all crammed together and waiting en masse to clear security. It was like a horror movie, if it was set in an office building. 

He joined the line and quickly noticed that it moved at a snail’s pace despite more people flooding in behind him. The result was barely contained, sweltering chaos.

“How are there this many people flying out at six-thirty in the morning!” He was grumbling and a stuffy old man next to him nodded his agreement. “Where are all you guys flying to at six-thirty in the morning on a Saturday? Get a life, people.”

The old man must have been feeling the same pain. “Don’t forget, this is also the International Terminal. They have extra screening machines here.” The man grumbled and leaned closer to George. “I had to put my favorite brass knuckles in my checked baggage. They won’t let me bring them into Canada.”

George raised an eyebrow. “What’s it to them? Are you going to punch a moose?”

There was laughter from a few people around them who could hear their conversation. 

The man cursed,“Damn Canadian commies. Too bad my daughter married one of them.”

At that weird statement, George’s attention went back to the interminal line of working class schlubs waiting to have their boarding passes checked. At least it was moving a bit now. 

George was, of course, wearing his piece de resistance--the suit, in all its stapled glory. It was true that he was pushing the limits of what his ‘Tailor Stapler’ was capable of and he had spent yesterday evening cropping already tightly fitting seams just a little tighter. 

Having always been that of a stocky nature, he had been impressed with the figure he was able to cut with just scissors and a stapler. Of course, he had to be gentle while sitting down, but otherwise everything about the suit was holding up fairly well. 

The sweating on the other hand, was atrocious. He fanned himself with his boarding pass, but it did nothing to alleviate his rising temperature. Sweat began trickling down his temples and brows. He looked at his watch, and cursed. He should be by the gate by now, not trapped in this was insanity.

This was the nineties, they should have had security figured out by now, he thought. Some kind of weird full body scan like they had in Star Trek. They deserved that. Humans deserved that.

The line trudged along and he could finally see the new machines that the other passenger had been talking about. It was a couple banks of weird blocky machines with little conveyor belts and a small army of angry looking security agents. 

By the time he reached the security agent, he was actively sweating around his neck, his back, his pits… it was all a mess, and his heart rate jacked up from the natural airport anxiety.

“This is ridiculous. I’m not even doing anything wrong,” he muttered to himself. “It’s just the airport. They make people feel crazy here.”

Every time he reached to pat the sweat at his neck he heard at least one or two staples pop.

“Just another casualty,” he reminded himself. “It’s okay, George, you got this. Bob’s going to love your gusto.” 

A hulking agent with a grimace for a smile signaled for George to approach.

“Passport and boarding pass, please.” George reached into his jacket pocket for the items, and heard a few more pings of staples hitting the floor. The sound caught the agent’s attention and he tilted his head in observation.

“It’s the jacket, it’s bespoke.” He hoped the explanation was enough but the agent’s expression stayed blank as he gave George an aggressive once over. 

“Please put your bag on the belt to have it scanned,” the agent pointed at the conveyor and George complied. 

“Finally we’re getting somewhere,” he whispered to himself.

The agent directed him to stand closer and he began giving George a pat down. 

“Whoa! Buy me dinner first, why don’t you,” George grinned as he made the joke but the agent wasn’t having any of it.

“What are you looking for?” He complained. “I’m just flying to Canada and actually I’m running late, so you know if we could hurry this up.” 

The agent glared at him menacingly. “It’s protocol," the agent snapped and motioned for George to open his legs and put his arms out. George could feel his face get redder and sweatier with the added motion. 

“I’m going to need you to put your arms up higher.” The agent bit out, annoyed. 

George was in fact, incapable of raising his arms anymore. The jacket had been stapled so tightly that he had lost his range of movement, and even the few extra degrees of pull caused more staples to go flying to the floor. 

Impatiently, the agent gave his wrist a tug upwards and George heard the unmistakable sound of the seam coming apart.

The agent didn’t give up. He gave the other wrist a tug and there were more plinks of staples hitting the floor. At this rate, he wouldn’t have any suit left to show off to Kramer’s friend. 

Next the agent started to drag the handheld metal detector in his hand across George’s body starting with his shoes. There was a non stop beeping, and the guard gave his machine a tap, thinking it was malfunctioning.

“It’s the staples,” offered George with a hint of nervous amusement in his voice.

“The what?” The agent gave him a puzzled look but continued scanning him.

“My suit, it’s stapled," he explained, “I alter my own suits with staples.”

There was extra beeping around his crotch area and the agent looked at George suspiciously which caused him to sweat even more. “It’s just lots and lots of staples, I swear.”

The agent was quickly losing his patience. “Sir, I’m going to need you to empty your pockets.” 

After emptying his pockets of a handful of change, and his wallet, the agent ran the detector again on his crotch.

Much to George’s chagrin, it beeped even more on the second pass. He coughed nervously, as the agent muttered something into his radio. After a few seconds, there was a garbled reply and the agent stated matter-of-factly, “I’m going to have to take you into secondary.”

George snapped, “It’s just the staples. I swear!” His voice became pleading and shrill as he continued, “It’s not like I have a _gun_ ,” but his voice cracked on the word ‘gun’.

Everyone in a quarter mile radius had heard George setting off the metal detector, then saying the word _gun_ out loud. Six agents drew their guns immediately, and pointed them at George.

The same agent who had given him his pat down now put a firm hand on his shoulder. “Sir, you’re coming with me.”

George’s mouth went dry. “Listen, it was a joke. Just an offhand remark. I don’t have a gun. I don’t have any weapons,” he begged, clearly panicking.

The agent by the baggage scanner held up George’s carry-on bag and pulled out the Tailor Stapler and showed it to the agent currently manhandling him. 

“Sir, we found this.” Both agents looked at each other knowingly.

“That’s just a stapler, it’s not a weapon. It’s just a prototype!” He was yelling, but they weren’t listening. 

The agent pulled George’s wrists behind him and put him in a pair of handcuffs, causing just enough tension to pull both shoulder seams of his doomed jacket apart.

“Oh no, oh no… the suit! My flight! Kramer!” George continued shouting as the agent led him down a dark hallway.

**In airport jail**

After being through not one, but TWO very aggressive secondary interrogations and one very memorable body cavity search, George was led to airport security detainment cells. 

His suit tried but failed to survive all of the day’s events and was now ruined beyond repair. His sleeves had sadly rolled down his arms exposing his pit sweat stained shirt sleeves underneath.

Fromthe security office, he was led to a cell while his bag was handed off to the guard on duty. He was being guided into a cell when a familiar voice shouted his name.

“GEORGE!” he looked across the small cell where Kramer was trying to sit up from a lying position on a very uncomfortable looking bench.

The light returned to George’s eyes for a moment before he realized that Kramer’s presence meant that neither had made it onto their flight.

“KRAMER!” He exclaimed in genuine surprise. George ran up to his friend and gave him a quick embrace. 

“What are you doing here!? Here I thought you were going to Canada without me!” He chuckled a bit at the turn of events.

Kramer rubbed a hand across his face, taking a moment to catch up. “I thought you were on the flight, and I missed you! What are you doing here? And what happened to your wonderful suit?” He picked at the torn seams. “Your masterpiece is ruined.”

“I kept setting off the metal detectors, and they kept asking me if I had a weapon, and I cracked a joke about a gun, and I learned the hard way that the airport is definitely not a place to say the words ‘weapon’ or ‘casualty’.” He sighed, recalling what happened. “Then my stapler set off the baggage scanner and they thought my stapler was a weapon. You know, as you do.”

True to form, Kramer had a completely different takeaway. “George, that’s ridiculous. A man can’t even carry a stapler in the airport? What has this world come to?”

“Also, both myself and my body cavities discovered that being excessively sweaty makes you appear very suspicious in the eyes of the airport authorities.” 

Kramer cringed, “Ouchy.” George concurred.

“Anyway, so what about you?” He pointed at Kramer. “What are you doing here? How did you end up in airport jail?”

Kramer was wincing in pain as he cracked his back. “I was so tired from getting here so early! Because you know, good parking and all that.” 

“Anyway, I was knackered. So, I decided to take a nap on a bench, and when a guard woke me up, he thought I was homeless! And I didn’t have my bag or coat cause somebody had stolen them, right from under my nose!” his hands waved dramatically with his own retelling. “They took everything from me, George!” Kramer continued, almost elbowing George with his flailing limbs. “ I had no ID, no wallet, no boarding pass, and my coat was gone too! I _loved_ that coat!”

George rubbed his chin. “We’re talking about the _dumpster_ coat that has a very… _potent_ smell.”

“That’s the one.” Kramer snapped his fingers.

“I have no idea how they could have thought that about you.” George said plainly with just the tiniest hint of sarcasm.

Kramer ignored the jab and stretched his legs. “I called Jerry to come pick me up though, so he should be on his way.”

“Well that’s good.” said George. “I won’t bother using my one phone call, then.”

“He should be here any minute,” Kramer stood up and groaned. “In the meantime, I'll try to stretch out my back, you know, sleeping on these benches is awful business! I feel like a cripple!” 

“Hopefully Jerry gets here soon so I don’t have to find out for myself, “George stated with a grimace.

With impeccable timing, there was a hubbub of voices from the adjacent security office.

A guard came through the big metal door, and Jerry appeared from behind him.

“Well, well, well...airport jail. It’s cozier than I would have imagined.” Jerry’s tone was light and smug, and George felt equal parts annoyance and relief.

Jerry turned to the guard, “I’ll take the tall one, and unfortunately the _short_ one as well.”

“AVERAGE JERRY! I’m AVERAGE!” George snapped from his spot in the cell and Jerry started laughing.

**In the airport**

It took nearly forty minutes of paperwork, but George and Kramer had gotten out of the airport jail cell and were finally free. All thanks to Jerry, who was still grinning over their misfortune.

George was not quite so heartless. He walked with Kramer who was nearly bent over from the cramps in his legs and back. They were forced to walk slow as Kramer had also developed a wheezing cough from the cold outside air. In a word, he was a mess. 

George attempted to make conversation anyway.

“It’s too bad about your stuff, Kramer.“ he stated, hanging onto Kramer’s arm and guiding him through the packs of bustling people while Jerry walked ahead casually as if nothing had happened out of the ordinary. 

Kramer coughed as he tried to speak. “Yeah, I mean, I _really_ loved that coat.”

“Well, I was talking about all the money, keys and wallet you just lost," George said as he rolled his eyes. 

“Oh yeah,” Kramer snapped his fingers in agreement, “that too.”

Up ahead, Jerry was fishing in his own jacket as they walked. “Geeze, where did I even put that ticket?” He muttered as he patted down his pockets. He waved at George to get his attention, and walked back towards him.

“I just remembered I need to go and get parking paid before we head for the car. So, I need to find an ATM.” Jerry cursed and scanned the nearby walls for any indication of nearby ATMs. “Why does the airport have to be so difficult. I’ll be right back.”

He walked off leaving the two men alone.

They were just standing and waiting, and gazing nowhere in particular when something caught George’s eye through the heavy flow of human bodies. 

“Kramer, isn’t that your coat?” George had caught sight of a young man skulking near a group of benches across the hall. He was maybe twenty, and he was eyeing up a nearby travelers' bags and valuables.

Kramer squinted. “Oh my God! It is!” He began shouting, “that guy has my coat!” 

George jogged after the man and Kramer tried to follow but his leg cramped up and his back seized in pain. “Oh my GOD MY BACK! George I can’t help you.”

Ignoring him, George kept his eyes on the man as he approached. He didn’t scare him off until he got closer, but as soon as the would-be thief reached for a woman’s purse, George started shouting.

“You! You there in the fur coat! Stop right there! Lady, he’s trying to steal your purse!” The wealthy looking woman grabbed for her purse, and pulled it safely into her chest. The accused man bolted, and George screamed even louder as he ran after him in the large terminal.

George was surprisingly light on his feet with most of the staples popped from his suit but there was no way to catch the thief on foot. Still, he had one trick left up his torn sleeve. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Tailor Stapler and with an unusual fit of athleticism he launched the hefty office tool at the thief and nailed him square on the back of the head. The thief dropped to the floor, unconscious.

He grinned proudly as ran up to the man laying on the floor. “Well, I guess the stapler turned out to be a weapon, after all.” 

A crowd had gathered behind him to watch the scene unfold. Unhindered, George tugged the fur coat off of the thief’s limp body and discovered the duffel bag he was carrying was also Kramer’s.

George yelled at the gawking strangers. “Somebody call security! This is the man who stole my friend’s stuff!”

An older man came up next to George and bent to pick up the stapler, and handed it to him. “I believe this is yours.” His eye caught the label on the stapler. “Tailor Stapler by George Constanza.” He read the tag out loud. “Do you know Jerry Seinfeld?”

George was surprised at the connection. “Yes?” he responded, making his answer a question of his own. 

His eyes narrowed with suspicion, “why do you ask?” 

At that, the man introduced himself. “My name is Sal and this is my wife, Lorraine. You just stopped this man from stealing her purse.” Next to him, she nodded and thanked him profusely. 

Sal continued, “We were with Jerry at my fundraising gala last night. He told us all about you.”

George’s eyes went wide with surprise. The gala? Last night? That was news, considering that as far as he knew, that particular gala was supposed to be this evening. It looked like he’d have a lot of questions for his boyfriend to answer later. 

“And what did he say?” he laughed, trying to smile despite his mind whirling from confusion. 

Sal’s wife was grinning at him earnestly, “he told us all about your social work with all those underprivileged youths you help.”

That was some very new information. Jerry had told them that he was a social worker. Could have been worse, he supposed. He’d go with it for the time being, for Jerry’s benefit. Later, he would get some clarity.

“Well, that’s my Jerry, always talking me up.” said George with a forced smile. 

The security detail had finally arrived to clean up the aftermath. Unfortunately, one of them happened to recognize George. He pointed at George with an accusatory finger,“hey didn’t we take you in earlier?”

George opened his mouth to argue, but Sal was quicker.

“You men let this thief roam around the airport stealing from unsuspecting people. Why if it wasn’t for this man, George Constanza, then this hoodlum would have made out with my wife’s purse!” His tone was that of a very rich man, with a lot of power. The guards nodded meekly as Sal pointed at the unconscious assailant.

“There’s the man you need to worry about. Get him out of here before he steals from anyone else.”

The guards bent and dragged the man to a standing position, and they guided him away down the hall. Some emotionally invested onlookers clapped approvingly, but the rest of the crowd dissipated with no action left to keep their attention.

As everything wrapped up, Jerry came up to them with Kramer limping not far behind.

With the mangy coat and ratty duffel clutched in his hands, George ran right past Jerry and went straight to Kramer. He held out the coat and Kramer accepted the help in getting the smelly garment back onto his shoulders. He thanked George profusely.

Jerry evaluated the scene before him, “I feel like I’m coming back from the bathroom at the movies and have no idea what just happened on screen.”

Sal reached out to shake Jerry’s hand. “Your George was a hero.”

Jerry popped an eyebrow. “Was he now?”

Sal’s wife rushed up to shake his hand too. She gushed as she recounted George’s heroics. “He stopped a man from stealing my purse, and then ran him down and threw his stapler at the thief’s head and knocked him unconscious! It was all very thrilling!”

“I guess it would be.” Jerry agreed. He still felt like he was still missing something.

Lorraine pointed at Kramer, “I’m so touched that he got that homeless man’s bag and coat bag back for him.” 

Jerry laughed, shaking his head. “He’s not homeless, he just smells like it. That’s not even a real limp. He’s just milking it for attention right now, I’m sure.”

Lorraine gasped, “Jerry, that’s insensitive!”

Sal came up behind her and agreed with his wife. “Frankly, I’m disappointed in you, Jerry. I can't believe you would kick a man while he was already down on his luck," he spat, outraged. "You should take some lessons from George on being a kinder person." He was pointing over at George, who at that moment began helping 'homeless' Kramer limp towards them. “Frankly, the world could use a few more George Constanza's in it.” 

Next to her husband, Lorraine echoed his feelings, visibly upset over Jerry’s callousness.

Sal took his wife’s hand, and together they shook their heads with disappointment and disapproval. Lorraine then whispered something into Sal’s ear and he nodded solemnly.

“Jerry, we’re going to have to cancel your bookings, especially now since we’ve both seen who you really are.”

Jerry’s mouth hung open. “I’m a really nice person, I swear!" He frowned, still attempting to explain. "It’s the airport! It made me cranky, and he's not really homeless!”

Lorraine turned on her heel as they turned to leave, and spat, “If I was George, I’d be embarrassed to be seen with you.” 

“But ...but…” Jerry was dumbfounded. His mind reeled with a lot of questions. He had no idea what had just happened. 

Finally, George came up to him with Kramer in tow.

“Man, Jerry, you should have seen that throw I made,” George said excitedly. “Turns out with my sleeves ripped from my shoulders, I got my full range of motion back.” He puffed out his chest with pride, “it was incredible. I swear, I could pitch for the Yankees.” His voice trailed off. 

“Wait, what happened? Why did they leave so quickly? What did you say? Did it have anything to do with the fundraiser _last night_?” He asked with annoyance.

Jerry rolled his eyes, “So you know, I lied.”

George pursed his lips. “Sorta. That Sal guy noticed my name on the stapler and put two and two together. Apparently he was impressed with my "social work".” 

Jerry cringed. “I can explain.”

George’s demeanor changed on a dime, all the frustration and adrenaline of the past few hours came to a head, and he fumed. “You are going to be explaining a LOT on the way home, Mister!” 

Jerry bit his tongue, knowing better than to prod him further. He'd vent, George would vent, yada yada yada. In reality, they couldn’t stay mad at each other for any real length of time, even if they tried. 

George stormed ahead dramatically, and Jerry rushed to keep up, completely forgetting Kramer who was still limping.

Kramer tried shouting at them to wait, but his voice was drowned by the bustle of people around him.

One person heard him though.

“Didn’t I already get rid of you once today?” a gruff voice stopped him in his tracks. It was the same airport security guard from earlier, and he didn't look happy. 

“Oh no,” Kramer panicked. “I can explain… JER!” He started yelling. “GEORGE? GEOOOOORGE?!”

**Back in the Comedy cellar**

“There comes a time in your relationship that you and your partner realize that you’re too much of a mess to be with anyone else. It’s true! It just the fact. Sure, your partner is an embarrassingly mediocre plain chip of a person but if you’re honest with yourself, so are you. On the market, neither of you hold any real value to anyone else, but damnit, you make each other happy and you know what? That's good enough.”

*** End Credits***  
*Seinfeld theme plays*


End file.
